


Of Course You Will

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Stuff [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Sherlock, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Mycroft Whump, Sherlock Cares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:02:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7282702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:</p><p>I don't know why - but I have a sudden urge for some Mycroft Whump.</p><p>I just have this image of Sherlock getting sent a pic message or email or something of Mycroft tied up with blood running from his nose and split lip and...I know - I'm a bad person, but I really want this.</p><p>Basically, Mycroft is kidnapped by bad guys, can be Sherlock's (Moriarty) or his own (Terrorists, spies, etc.)</p><p>Sherlock gets the message and has to track him down, and he keeps on getting more and more pictures of his brother getting more and more hurt as the time goes on.</p><p>Please can I have some angst from both brothers, H/C and - just go wild, I just want to see Mycroft get seriously beat up for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Course You Will

Sherlock was bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Out of desperation, he decided to check his email. Perhaps he would find an interesting case amidst the typical dross that he usually received. It was the 16th email that he opened that turned his day on end. There was nothing but an attachment. He almost deleted it out of hand, but opened the attachment on a whim. It was a video of his brother, Mycroft. He was bound and bloody, his face a mass of bruises.

"John!" He yelled then kicked the chair as he realised he was at the surgery. He couldn't do this without him so he snapped the laptop shut and took off down the stairs. He ignored his coat and began to race down the street towards the surgery.

Sherlock dialled the doctor as he ran, yelling John's name again when his flatmate picked up.

"I'm at work, Sherlock, I do-"

"John, shut up! It's Mycroft." He rounded the corner, dodging an old woman as he went. "I need you. He'll need you when we find him."

"What are you talking about?"

"They've hurt him. Aren't you listening?!"

"Sherlock? What the hell?"

"Leave work now, John! If you love me and trust me. Leave now. Head towards Baker Street."

"I- Right. I'm on my way."

Sherlock kept running as he pocketed his phone. John would have to explain where he was going before he could leave. They should meet in just a few more blocks. He leapt over a pram and ran. He got another half a block before his phone rang again.

"Phone Greg!" Came John's yell.

"Why?"

"Now, Sherlock! And you know why."

"You do it, John. I'm thinking. I've got to figure out who has him and where."

"He should hear it from you. And he can help. Call him."

"Fine!" Sherlock ended the conversation as he dashed through traffic and crossed the street, then he dialled the DI. The moment the other man answered, Sherlock began, "Lestrade, Mycroft's been taken. I'm meeting John at..." He did the mental calculation, two blocks south of his office. Be there."

"I can't be there Sherlock, I'm 30 miles away!"

"Then get here quickly."

Sherlock heard the rustling of papers. "How do you know he's been taken?"

"Email. Meet me at his club."

That conversation ended, he pounded down the pathway until he quite literally ran into John. "Good." He raised a hand and hailed a cab, then shoved the doctor into it. After giving the cabbie the address of the Diogenes, Sherlock pulled out his mobile and glanced at it. He had received a new email from the same address whilst he had been running. He opened it with a sense of dread.

"Let me," the doctor said gently, taking the phone from his hand and turning the screen away from Sherlock.

In a matter of seconds Sherlock's bottom lip had been sucked in and he was playing with it between his teeth.

When John was done with the video he held his arm up and Sherlock barrelled into him. Wrapping his arms around as much of the older man as he could reach. Knowing the DI was likely to be sat passenger, John forwarded the attachment to him.

Sherlock steeled himself. What had to be done couldn't be avoided. He shoved his feelings down deep inside. "I need to see it."

"It's bad."

Holding out his hand, the detective waited until John relented. "There could be a clue in the background."

"The background is black, 'Lock. I really don't think you should see it."

"Now!" He yelled and then sighed. He buried his head again. "I'm sorry," he whispered, but he still started the video and watched it play through.

Someone was holding Mycroft's head back so that his face was easy to see and his chest was bare except for the freshly made cuts and the blood that poured down it. A hand appeared from the side and dragged a knife down his chest, making another slice. He was blindfolded and he almost seemed glad to be gagged in the way he was.

Sherlock actually threw his phone at the back of the seat in frustration.

"Watch it mate!" The cabbie growled.

"Piss off!"

"Sherlock!" John next addressed the cabbie. "He didn't mean it. There's an emergency- His brother-"

The cabbie glared at Sherlock, but didn't stop the car, not until they reached the Diogenes.

John just threw him the cash he'd pulled from Sherlock's pocket, his own money was in his wallet at work.

When they were out John grabbed his sleeve to stop him haring off. "You need to calm the fuck down and think rationally. Because if you don't Mycroft will die!" John's words were harsh, but they were meant to be; it was an attempt to shock him into some vague usefulness.

"You had a reason for bringing us here." John jerked his head towards the entrance to the club. "What is it?"

"I need access to Mycroft's resources." The detective pulled John towards the door.

"And they're just going to let us into his little sanctuary. I don't think so."

"Of course they will and it won't even require subterfuge. Don't you think my brother's smart enough to have anticipated such a scenario." He gestured to the man who approached and, leaning in, whispered a single word in his ear. The man paled, then led them to Mycroft's private office.

"One DI Lestrade is en route allow him entrance when he gets here without argument."

With that Sherlock collapsed at Mycroft's desk and began to hack into his email account. The password was relatively easy for Mycroft. Sherlock's birthday followed by Redbeard. "That was too easy. Mycroft expected that I might to need to do this."

The detective scrolled through the emails, opening the ones that seemed suspicious. Slowly the pieces fell together. It all pointed to a threat against Sherlock, and Mycroft's inevitable attempt to eliminate it. An attempt gone horribly wrong. For once.

John, although not as quick as Sherlock and not quite so sure where all the puzzle pieces slotted together had managed to gain enough from his boyfriend's reaction to know what this was about. He put his hand on his shoulder. "Sherlock, look at me," he ordered, sternly.

The detective's horror-filled eyes rose to meet his.

"This is. Not. Your. Fault. Do you hear me?"

"Doesn't matter." The detective shrugged off John's hand. He knew whose fault it was despite what the doctor had said. He needed to locate the source of the emails he and Mycroft had received. Typing furiously, he set to work to do just that.

John watched him anxiously and sighed with relief when the DI came rushing in. He slammed the door behind him.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Sherlock looked up, spotting him, then he pointed at the door. "Find Anthea. Now!"

Greg rushed off in search of her without argument. She wasn't hard to find, being the only woman within the sanctity of the club. "Mycroft," was the one word that Greg said as he pulled her to Mycroft's office.

"What about him?"

"You haven't noticed he's missing?"

"He had a conference across London this morning, so yes, he's missing, at least in the club's point of view."

The DI opened the door and pushed her in. The moment she saw what Sherlock was doing, she went pale, knowing what it meant. "Tell me everything," Anthea demanded.

"Why don't you know everything?!" Sherlock snapped. "You usually do." John put a hand on his should but neither knew whether it was as comfort or a warning.

She went extremely more pale extremely quickly. "What's happened?" She repeated.

"He's been taken. And it's my fault."

"It's not your fault!" John snapped. He took a deep breath, then repeated it more calmly. "It's not your fault. The sooner you believe that, the sooner you'll be able to concentrate on the clues."

"I can concentrate just fine. Anthea, who is Jaxson and why is he interested in me?"

She frowned, not answering.

"Now is not the time to start hiding things from me, despite what my brother has said!"

"He would-"

"Who. Is. He?" Sherlock repeated slowly. "Don't try and bluff your way around it. This could very well be life or death."

"He doesn't just want you. He wants you both. It's to do with the job you did for Mr. Holmes a few months back-"

"The one involving arms trafficking." Sherlock slammed his fists down on the desktop. He closed his eyes and plunged into his Mind Palace, that had been the missing piece of information he had needed. Sherlock's eyes flew open and he leapt to his feet. "I know where they're keeping him."

"What, Sherlock, how?"

The detective ignored his boyfriend as he got to his feet and headed to the door at speed.

"Sherlock," John shouted. "It's a trap!"

Still the youngest Holmes ignored him.

"At least let me phone for back up!" Greg yelled after him.

"I don't need back up! I can bloody well handle one dickhead alone." His voice was getting further away by the second.

"Bloody hell," the DI swore as he charged after the younger man, John by his side. "You're not doing this alone. You've got us!"

"Fine, but don't get in my way." The detective ran through the club, his coat flaring out behind him. "And keep up."

There was a man climbing into a cab. Sherlock heaved him bodily out of the way and ducked into the car, John and Greg followed.

"The docks," he ordered sharply.

"Which ones?" The cabbie didn't look impressed.

"The nearest ones." He sighed and glanced at John for help, he deleted details like that.

Sherlock's hands were balled into tight fists and he was even more pale than normal. John reached over and opened one of his boyfriend's hands, then laced their fingers together. "Try to relax. Do it for Mycroft. He needs you on top of your game." He looked over at Greg who looked just as bad. "You too." John held his free hand out jokingly. "I suppose you taking my hand would be a little weird, huh?"

The DI chuckled nervously. "You could be right, mate."

Sherlock's phone pinged.

"If it's another email about Mycroft, let me see it," the doctor demanded. "You don't need to. You already know where he's being held. I need to know what condition he's in."

It wasn't. It was from Anthea.

_Right hand side of docks, small container. -A_

"Does she know how many containers are at the docks?" Greg growled. "We need more info than that!"

Sherlock shook his head. "No we don't. I know what shipping company Jaxson's associates used as a cover. It'll be one of their containers."

The cab pulled to a stop and all three men climbed out. Sherlock took off at a run, quickly out pacing the other two men.

"Why am I so god damn short!" John cursed.

If it wasn't for the circumstances Greg and maybe even Sherlock might have laughed.

"And why the hell didn't I bring my kit?!"

Greg shouted back over his shoulder, "Anthea sent another text. One of their ambulances is on the way."

Ahead of them, Sherlock turned sharply to the right and disappeared along a line of containers. By the time they'd caught up with the row of containers Sherlock was out of sight.

The DI grabbed John's sleeve, he pressed his gun into his hand. "It's not your SIG but you're a far better shot than I am."

"Ta. I didn't know you carried."

"I didn't before I started dating Mycroft. He insisted."

"Smart man."

Greg held up his hand. There was a small container just ahead that was standing open. Voices could be heard coming from inside. Voices and then a gun shot.

All logic fled John as he charged in.

Sherlock had somehow made it to his knees beside an unconscious Mycroft. One gun lay to the side.

John didn't care who was the 'bad guy' he shot the two other men there in quick succession.

"Sherlock, is he-" Greg couldn't finish the question.

"He has a pulse." The detective moved around to make room for John to examine Mycroft.

"What about these two?"

"I doubt they're dead," John's voice wasn't impressed.

One man groaned, Sherlock raced at him and kicked him in the ribs. He hauled him to his feet and threw him against the wall. "You are going to fucking well pay for this!"

"Greg, help me get him untied," John ordered, ignoring what his boyfriend was doing. "I want to get him laying down."

Greg took Sherlock's place at Mycroft's side. He pulled out a knife and started cutting through the ropes that held him in place.

The DI's buzzing phone interrupted them, it was from Anthea.

"2 minutes, it says,"

"I'm assuming that's the ambulance?" John grumbled, he pulled his jumper over his head and placed it over Mycroft.

Sherlock's voice interrupted them. "Where is the real leader of this pitiful group?"

The man didn't answer, not verbally, but his eyes turned towards the entrance of the container. That meant he had to be nearby.

Sherlock threw the man aside, grabbed Greg's discarded gun and ran back out into the open. He caught a blurry motion to his left and took off after it.

"Sherl-" Greg cut off. "Are you ok here? As much as I love this Holmes I prefer only one in hospital."

John nodded. He didn't much like to think about Mycroft's reaction if he woke up and Sherlock was in the next door bed or worse.

Greg took off after Sherlock. He only hoped he could catch up with him before anything dire could happen. A glimpse of the Belstaff's tails flapping as the detective rounded a corner told the DI where he needed to be and he put on an extra burst of speed. He needn't have bothered though, just as he rounded the corner to cackling which was clearly not coming from Sherlock two shots were fired.

Straight into the leader's knees.

Jaxson screamed in pain. Sherlock didn't even flinch. Nor did Greg. Neither man was feeling charitable towards the wretch.

The DI walked up next to Sherlock. "I suppose Mycroft would want him taken alive. Pity, that."

"It's the only reason he _is_ still alive."

The sound of sirens drifted over the docks as the ambulance neared. Sherlock took off again, content that the rat on the floor wasn't going anywhere.

Greg, despite wanting to be by Mycroft's side, bent down to grab the scruff of the now cowering man's neck. He began dragging it (Greg had decided it couldn't be deemed a 'him') back towards the others.

"Oh, shut it, before I decide it's not worth it to keep you alive." The DI dropped the man at the entrance to the container where Mycroft had been held.

"I heard that, Gregory," the government official said weakly.

"Mycroft! You're awake!" Greg rushed over and knelt by his boyfriend's head. He reached out and gently brushed his hand over Mycroft's hair.

"Badly beaten, but somehow, no broken bones," John's smile was tight. "At least from what I can tell. He'll be bruised though and the cuts will take a while to heal. So no work, Mr. British Government for a long while."

Mycroft started to argue, but Greg cut him off. "If he tries it, Doctor John, I'll lock him in the bedroom." He glared at his boyfriend. "Don't push me, Myc."

"Yes, Gregory."

Anthea appeared along with a pair of medics and a stretcher. "Hello, Mr. Holmes. I'd ask how you're feeling, but-"

"You do, and you're reassigned to Antarctica."

"I suspected as much. Who's responsible for Jaxson?"

"That would be me. I blew his kneecaps off for you, Mycroft."

Despite his situation, Mycroft raised an incredulous eyebrow. "For me, Sherlock? Are you really going for that as your excuse?"

The detective was stood by the container wall, his arms folded as he regarded the others. He had been rather quiet, contemplating. "Brother dear, if I had done what I wanted to do, I would have shot him through the heart, so, yes, for you." Sherlock took a deep breath. "Don't ever do something like this again. Don't try to protect me by putting yourself at risk. If they had-" He broke off and turned away, unable to go on. Content his brother would be fine he walked out of the container, kicking the door as he passed it.

John teetered, clearly wanting to go with his boyfriend. The paramedics that had rushed in had begun doing what they did and John knew they must be exceptional to make Mycroft's team, but that didn't mean he didn't want to see over them.

"Go," the oldest ordered. "Deal with my brother."

John went after his boyfriend, stopping to stand next to him. "Mycroft's going to be fine."

"What if we had been to late."

"We weren't."

"But-"

"'Lock, we weren't." John paused. "That's how the three of us feel about you every time this type of thing happens to you, you know."

The detective froze. "Myc-"

"Every time," John whispered, cupping the taller man's cheek. "He worries about you just like you do about him," he held his finger to forestall any arguments. "After that performance, don't lie. Now go back in there and hug him. Gently mind."

"I want to go in the ambulance."

"You may have to fight Greg for that privilege."

"No he won't," the DI said from just behind him. "I'll ride up front. Sherlock can ride in the back. He wants to see you, Sherlock."

The detective blinked, then rushed back in. He stopped by the stretcher.

"You know this wasn't your fault, 'Lock. Right?"

Sherlock swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded jerkily.

Mycroft raised an arm, as stiff as it was, he placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, then moved it to his cheek.

"It was my case. I got you involved in it."

"I do this to you. All the time. When I run-"

"You do," Mycroft agreed, "every time."

"I'm sorry, Myc." Sherlock's voice was thick with emotion. "I won't do it again."

The government official laughed, wincing. "Of course you will. And we'll worry, but we won't quit caring."


End file.
